


Pet Problems

by andachippedcup



Series: Domestic Belle [8]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-04
Updated: 2013-02-04
Packaged: 2017-11-28 04:05:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/670077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andachippedcup/pseuds/andachippedcup





	Pet Problems

She’s persistent, his little Belle. He’ll give her that much.

He thinks that they’re in the clear after the whole kitten fiasco. After all, Belle’s desire for a pet had been in passing initially. The pet shop window had been a lure she could not ignore and they’d always have to stop so she could fawn over the puppies and kittens for sale. Later, she’d taken to sobbing when the adoption commercials came on, with pictures of sad animals being paraded to the tune of some sad song. But when he’d sent her to Marco’s with a broken piece from the pawn shop, Belle had encountered Figaro. After meeting the tuxedo colored cat, she’d become  _obsessed_  with pet ownership.

 And thus they had somehow come into possession of a bedraggled, fluffy black and white cat that Belle had found somewhere or the other. She’d kept it for close to a month and the whole while he’d despised the creature, referring to it as Lucifer behind Belle’s back. But eventually, Belle had stopped attempting to hide what he had already known; she was allergic to cats. It had been rather evident; the sudden abundance of allergy medications, coupled with her bloodshot, swollen red eyes and runny, stuffy nose. Her constant sneezes, perpetually dry, raspy throat and the faint prickle of a rash after she’d cuddled the cat had all been rather blatant cues. But he’d said nothing, not wanting to be the bad guy. 

Lucifer had promptly been rehomed (pawned off, more like, and on Cinderella no less). And so, he’d thought they were safely out of the woods on the pet front, having learned that Belle was so fiercely allergic. And that’s fine by him, really; he’s not much of an animal person and the little things only create a mess and more trouble than they’re worth. Then again, Belle having a pet  _had_ provided a good distraction to delay the dreaded conversation about  _children_.

And really, that’s not a conversation he’s quite ready for just yet.

But they’re happy enough for a time, just the two of them in their cozy ‘pink palace’. That is, until he comes home one day to find a host of cars parked in front of his house. There’s Mary Margaret’s vehicle (you can still see a patch of spray paint here and there). Ruby’s wolf charm hangs from the rearview mirror of her car and there’s the Sheriff’s vehicle, plain as day in his drive.

He finds a space for his black Cadillac and makes his way to the front door, mumbling curses under his breath about the inability of these women to carpool when they all live within a fifteen mile radius of one another.

As he shrugs off his coat and hangs it and his keys up in the entryway, he can hear the women chattering and follows the sound to the living room, where they’re gathered around on the floor. Their attention seems focused on something in Belle’s lap, but what exactly it is, he can’t tell from here. She’s facing away from him, fawning over whatever it is just like the rest of them.

“Interrupting something, am I?” He queries cautiously, feeling more than a little out of place, the only cock in a henhouse where the hens are to be feared.

And just like that she’s turned to face him and flashed him that smile that makes his knees go weak but which is also the smile that she always uses to butter him up before something unpleasant. He knows it should be a warning, but really he can’t get past that weak-kneed feeling long enough to care that something he won’t enjoy is coming.

He watches as Emma leans into Belle and something exchanges between them, then Belle’s on her feet and darting towards him with open arms. She flings her arms around him in a tight hug as she presses a happy kiss to his lips and then cups his face in her hands.

“Darling, I need to introduce you to someone.” She beams.

Uh oh. Yep, it’s definitely unpleasant, unwelcome news.

“Someone?” He repeats, somewhat dazed as she drags him forward. The women sitting on his living room rug part like the Red Sea, for while they all adore his wife, they love him less so.

Belle gingerly guides him to his knees and then motions to Emma. The Sheriff gives him a scrutinizing look and then looks to Belle as if for reassurance. Belle nods though and Emma grudgingly parts with…

“…A pig?” He utters incredulously as he stares at what is most assuredly the smallest porcine creature he’s ever laid eyes on. “You got… _a pig?_ ”

“A  _teacup_  pig!” Belle corrects brightly, as if this somehow improves the matter. “His name is Hamlet! For a while I was contemplating Macbeth, but Hamlet really is my favorite of Shakespeare and besides, it’s just such a cute name for him.” She grins, holding the wriggling little black thing up for him to see. It’s got two white front legs and a white stomach, with a large round circle between its eyes – far too  _pretty_  of markings for a pig, better suited for a dog, he thinks.

“Belle, we’ve been through this dearie,  _your allergies_.” He reminds with a little shake of his head. “We can’t keep… _’Hamlet’_.” He frowns as he says the name, as if it is somehow abominable to him.

“That, good chap, is where you’re wrong.” A crisp male voice cuts through the quiet. He glances behind him to see that it’s the damn  _Hatter_ , bearing a heavily laden tea tray and a cocky grin. The  _arse_. Of course he’s here; this pig has his stink all over it.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but Belle is allergic to cats; why should a pig be any different? It has hair, just look at it.” He sweeps a hand toward the wretched thing and Belle clutches it to her breast protectively.

“Well, you  _are_ wrong old fellow, so correct you I shall.” The Hatter says brightly as he sets the tray on the floor for the women to have at as he passes a bottle to Belle. This has Gold frowning until he realizes. The  _bottle_  is meant for the  _creature_ ; he’s quickly proven right as Belle offers the piglet the bottle and it takes it enthusiastically, wetting its little lips loudly with the milk.

“Pigs are different from dogs and cats; most people who are allergic to them aren’t allergic to pigs. And I’m one of them! Look, no allergies!” Belle crows triumphantly as she raises the pig to her face and presses a kiss to his little forehead.

The  _fucking pig_  is getting more attention from his wife than he is. This is  _not_  okay.

“Well…I guess there’s no reason we can’t keep him then…  _why can’t I think of a reason?_ ” He mutters the last bit under his breath, not loud enough for her to hear. This pig has got to go. It’s already stealing attention away from him. Where usually he’d receive a welcome home hug and a long, passionate kiss, he’s gotten off with a hug and a peck on the lips.

Hardly steamy.

Belle and the women are all chattering happily now, but he’s not buying it. He shoots the Hatter a look from across the room and points to the kitchen. The young man gets the message, apparently, because he quickly excuses himself to get some additional tea things, and he offers to help their young guest and follows him out.

As soon as they’re safely out of earshot and well beyond sight, he shoves the Hatter and hobbles past him into the kitchen, murder on his face.

“This was your doing.” He growls as he snatches up the little decorative container they keep the sugar in. “Belle was done with her little pet craze after the kitten business and then a teacup pig just somehow finds its way into her lap? What’re you playing at?”

Jefferson raises his hands before him in innocence, but there’s a smile on his lips.

“Now there, don’t blame me;  _you_  taught her how to use a computer. I can’t help it if she stumbled across a video of a teacup pig online and called to ask me if I knew where I could find one. I did, in case you were wondering.” Jefferson adds with a chuckle, stepping forward and helping himself to some cookies from the jar Belle always keeps fully stocked.

“What in the bloody hell am I supposed to do with a miniature  _pig_  running about my house?” He’s not a fan of animals. People are bad enough. But animals meant for food being treated like pets? Those are even worse, he’s just decided.

“I suppose you should count your blessings that they’re litter box trainable and get used to little Hamlet!” Jefferson grins and ducks, narrowly missing the spoon that’s been chucked at his head.

——-

Belle insists on spending the night wrapped up in a sleeping bag on the floor beside “Hamlet’s” bed, a great big fluffy thing meant for dogs that Belle got from the local pet store, until he ‘gets accustomed’ to his new home.

This adds up to a rather sleepless night spent tossing and turning for him. When he awakens in the morning though, the sight that meets his eyes only puts him in a fouler mood. There’s his little Belle, peacefully sleeping on her side of the bed. And there, tucked in beside her and  _snoring_ , is that  _fucking piglet_.

So much for getting the little porkchop used to its bed. He can already tell, it’s a shifty little thing, this creature of Belle’s. It’s snuck in to sleep beside her. Certainly it must be a man that was somehow enchanted into a piglet by the curse. Yes, that’s it. It’s impossible the damn thing could have snuggled up against her like that otherwise.

He’ll have to watch this little bugger. And closely. If he doesn’t, the enchanted man-pig will undoubtedly try and steal Belle away from him and that just won’t do.

——-

She buys it a harness. A tiny, ridiculous thing, lime green in color (prompting him to make a joke about ‘Green Eggs and Ham’) that she attaches to a leash and uses to walk the abomination up and down the streets of Storybrooke. At first they don’t have far to go – after all, what kind of reputable establishment will allow a piglet inside it? None, none at all he tells himself smugly.

But when he pops by the ice cream parlor on his way home to surprise Belle with a pint of her favorite flavor, there’s his wife, looking lovely as ever in a pale green frock. And at her side, oinking and wiggling its little tail is the damned pig.

The other establishments are quick to follow suit. Apparently people fall for the pig almost as quickly as they do for Belle and soon their weekly breakfast at the diner sees them accompanied by the damn sausage link as Granny and Ruby fawn over it and give it oatmeal while he and Belle take their eggs and toast.

He’d like to threaten to double, hell  _triple_  their rent. But he knows it wouldn’t work; Belle would find out and make him lower it right back down anyway. No, he just has to grin and bear it as the damn sirloin wriggles his way deeper and deeper into his wife’s heart.

He hates the thing. The little set of spare ribs always gets into trouble whenever Belle’s not around to see it and it’s clever too; it never leaves any evidence of its crimes that he can leverage against it to get rid of it. It seems cruel, that the former Dark One has been outplayed by none other than a wee ham hock.

It isn’t until one day that Belle’s gone to have a ‘Girl’s Day’ with Mary Margaret and Ruby that it happens. The hunk of bacon comes thudding down the stairs (all four pounds of it) and in its mouth is his left slipper. Not just  _any_  left slipper, mind you; the left slipper from his  _best set of slippers_. The fuzzy black pair that Belle bought him as a gift. The pair he steadfastly refused to wear for the first few months because they were decidedly  _not_  masculine. The pair which, when he was sick and Belle forced him to wear, he had realized were made of fluffy clouds for such was their softness and which, from that time on, had become his preferred slippers.

 _This_ was the left slipper that the damned oinker had in its ruddy little mouth as it half ran, half fell down the stairs. This was the slipper that the mangy creature was slobbering all over. And it was  _this_  slipper that the damned thing, upon reaching the ground floor, curled up inside and promptly fell asleep in.

He has put up with a great many things, before and during the damned ham haunch’s tenure in their home. But this? This is an act of warfare in the extreme and it will not go unpunished. He hurries off to find the camera and then sneaks back and promptly takes pictures to use as evidence to plead his case with Belle.

Little Bacon, he imagines, will be in for a rude awakening once Belle is confronted with incontrovertible evidence of her pet’s devilry. Yet, hours later when she returns home and he shows her the picture, Belle only laughs and dismisses his complaints, insisting that little Hamlet was only trying to cuddle with something that smelled familiar and like  _him_.

She thought the damned wanna-be rodent  _liked_  him? Now that was going too far.

“He doesn’t  _like me_ , Belle, he  _hates_  me. He’s committed an atrocity, an act of warfare!  _He sullied my slipper_! I want him gone! He’s destroying personal property!” He complains loudly, crooking an accusatory finger at the pig in question.

Belle only holds the thing closer to her chest and shoots him a dirty look, as if his words are somehow inappropriate given the circumstances.

“The only one committing acts of warfare around here is  _you_. Demanding that I get rid of Hamlet? Where would he go, Rum? There’s no pig rescues around here to take him! And do  _not_  suggest that he go on the kitchen table or so help me, you can sleep in Hamlet’s bed and he can have your place for the next month.” She snaps protectively.

“He already  _has_ my place.” He mumbles grumpily as he turns away.

That’s it.

The damned thing is enchanted. That’s the only explanation. Because certainly no _ordinary_  teacup pig could win over his Belle’s affections so easily and turn her against him. No, this pig is  _cursed_. It’s probably some fiend that a swamp witch or mountain hag bewitched into a pig and when the curse hit, he came through and retained his animal form. Yes. And now he’s got Belle under his spell and the devil man-that-was-cursed-into-a-pig is plotting to steal Belle away from him.

Fat chance of that happening. He won’t allow it.

The next day when Belle is still upstairs changing, he and Bacon are left alone as the vermin eats the oatmeal Belle whipped up for it first thing after she woke up. He reaches down and plucks the bowl away from the pig and glares at it full in the face.

“I’m onto you, Sausage.” He growls at the creature. “And if you don’t leave my Belle out of your scheming, I’ll be eating you for breakfast, mark my words.” He finishes and feigns as if to lunge at the creature. This sends it scurrying up the stairs squealing and he watches the creature go with a Cheshire smile.

Until, that is, Belle comes down the stairs coddling the bacon bite and cooing at him with concern.

“Rum, did something happen to Hamlet? He ran upstairs crying and when he got to our bedroom, he was in such a panic! I’m sorry, he even peed on your slipper.” She sighs, petting the young pig tenderly as her husband gapes at her.

“H-he…he  _peed_  on my… my  _slipper_?!” He repeats, mouth agape in disbelief.

Yes. Definitely a cursed thief or other foul, nefarious man turned four legged beast. The bacon slice has won this round, that much is certain. But given time, he’ll bring Belle to see the despicable nature of her new pet.

For now though, he’ll have to grin and bear the presence of this four legged intruder in his bed, this interloper stealing his wife’s affection.

Damn teacup pig. 


End file.
